Cecilia, by Fanny Burney

Chapter 2

A Surprize.

Lady Margaret’s town house was in Soho Square; and scarcely had Cecilia entered it, before her
desire to speed her departure, made her send a note to each of her guardians, acquainting them of her arrival, and
begging, if possible, to see them the next day.

Mr Delvile has too many affairs of importance upon his hands, to make any appointment till he has deliberated how to
arrange them. Mr Delvile will acquaint Miss Beverley when it shall be in his power to see her.

St James’s-square, Nov 8.

These characteristic letters, which at another time might have diverted Cecilia, now merely served to torment her.
She was eager to quit town, she was more eager to have her meeting with Mr Delvile over, who, oppressive to her even
when he meant to be kind, she foresaw, now he was in wrath, would be imperious even to rudeness. Desirous, however, to
make one interview suffice for both, and to settle whatever business might remain unfinished by letters, she again
wrote to Mr Briggs, whom she had not spirits to encounter without absolute necessity, and informing him of Mr Delvile’s
delay, begged he would not trouble himself to call till he heard from her again.

Two days passed without any message from them; they were spent chiefly alone, and very uncomfortably, Mr Monckton
being content to see little of her, while he knew she saw nothing of any body else. On the third morning, weary of her
own thoughts, weary of Lady Margaret’s ill-humoured looks, and still more weary of Miss Bennet’s parasitical
conversation, she determined, for a little relief to the heaviness of her mind, to go to her bookseller, and look over
and order into the country such new publications as seemed to promise her any pleasure.

She sent therefore, for a chair, and glad to have devised for herself any amusement, set out in it immediately.

Upon entering the shop, she saw the Bookseller engaged in close conference with a man meanly dressed, and much
muffled up, who seemed talking to him with uncommon earnestness, and just as she was approaching, said, “To terms I am
indifferent, for writing is no labour to me; on the contrary, it is the first delight of my life, and therefore, and
not for dirty pelf, I wish to make it my profession.”

The speech struck Cecilia, but the voice struck her more, it was Belfield’s! and her amazement was so great, that
she stopt short to look at him, without heeding a man who attended her, and desired to know her commands.

The bookseller now perceiving her, came forward, and Belfield, turning to see who interrupted them, started as if a
spectre had crossed his eyes, slapped his hat over his face, and hastily went out of the shop.

Cecilia checking her inclination to speak to him, from observing his eagerness to escape her, soon recollected her
own errand, and employed herself in looking over new books.

Her surprize, however, at a change so sudden in the condition of this young man, and at a declaration of a passion
for writing, so opposite to all the sentiments which he had professed at their late meeting in the cottage, awakened in
her a strong curiosity to be informed of his situation; and after putting aside some books which she desired to have
packed up for her, she asked if the gentleman who had just left the shop, and who, she found by what he had said, was
an Author, had written anything that was published with his name?

“No, ma’am,” answered the Bookseller, “nothing of any consequence; he is known, however, to have written several
things that have appeared as anonymous; and I fancy, now, soon, we shall see something considerable from him.”

“He is about some great work, then?”

“Why no, not exactly that, perhaps, at present; we must feel our way, with some little smart jeu d’esprit
before we undertake a great work. But he is a very great genius, and I doubt not will produce something
extraordinary.”

“Whatever he produces,” said Cecilia, “as I have now chanced to see him, I shall be glad you will, at any time, send
to me.”

“Certainly, ma’am; but it must be among other things, for he does not chuse, just now to be known; and it is a rule
in our business never to tell people’s names when they desire to be secret. He is a little out of cash, just now, as
you may suppose by his appearance, so instead of buying books, he comes to sell them. However, he has taken a very good
road to bring himself home again, for we pay very handsomely for things of any merit, especially if they deal smartly
in a few touches of the times.”

Cecilia chose not to risk any further questions, lest her knowledge of him should be suspected, but got into her
chair, and returned to Lady Margaret’s.

The sight of Belfield reminded her not only of himself; the gentle Henrietta again took her place in her memory,
whence her various distresses and suspences had of late driven from it everybody but Delvile, and those whom Delvile
brought into it. But her regard for that amiable girl, though sunk in the busy scenes of her calamitous uncertainties,
was only sunk in her own bosom, and ready, upon their removal, to revive with fresh vigour. She was now indeed more
unhappy than even in the period of her forgetfulness, yet her mind, was no longer filled with the restless turbulence
of hope, which still more than despondency unfitted it for thinking of others.

This remembrance thus awakened, awakened also a desire of renewing the connection so long neglected. All scruples
concerning Delvile had now lost their foundation, since the doubts from which they arose were both explained and
removed: she was certain alike of his indifference to Henrietta, and his separation from herself; she knew that nothing
was to be feared from painful or offensive rivalry, and she resolved, therefore, to lose no time in seeking the first
pleasure to which since her disappointment she had voluntarily looked forward.

Early in the evening, she told Lady Margaret she was going out for an hour or two, and sending again for a chair,
was carried to Portland-street.

She enquired for Miss Belfield, and was shewn into a parlour, where she found her drinking tea with her mother, and
Mr Hobson, their landlord.

Henrietta almost screamed at her sight, from a sudden impulse of joy and surprize, and, running up to her, flung her
arms round her neck, and embraced her with the most rapturous emotion: but then, drawing back with a look of timidity
and shame, she bashfully apologized for her freedom, saying, “Indeed, dearest Miss Beverley, it is no want of respect,
but I am so very glad to see you it makes me quite forget myself!”

Cecilia, charmed at a reception so ingenuously affectionate, soon satisfied her doubting diffidence by the warmest
thanks that she had preserved so much regard for her, and by doubling the kindness with which she returned her
caresses.

“Mercy on me, madam,” cried Mrs Belfield, who during this time had been busily employed in sweeping the hearth,
wiping some slops upon the table, and smoothing her handkerchief and apron, “why the girl’s enough to smother you.
Henny, how can you be so troublesome? I never saw you behave in this way before.”

“Miss Beverley, madam,” said Henrietta, again retreating, “is so kind as to pardon me, and I was so much surprised
at seeing her, that I hardly knew what I was about.”

“The young ladies, ma’am,” said Mr Hobson, “have a mighty way of saluting one another till such time as they get
husbands: and then I’ll warrant you they can meet without any salutation at all. That’s my remark, at least, and what
I’ve seen of the world has set me upon making it.”

This speech led Cecilia to check, however artless, the tenderness of her fervent young friend, whom she was much
teized by meeting in such company, but who seemed not to dare understand the frequent looks which she gave her
expressive of a wish to be alone with her.

“Come, ladies,” continued the facetious Mr Hobson, “what if we were all to sit down, and have a good dish of tea?
and suppose, Mrs Belfield, you was to order us a fresh round of toast and butter? do you think the young ladies here
would have any objection? and what if we were to have a little more water in the tea-kettle? not forgetting a little
more tea in the teapot. What I say is this, let us all be comfortable; that’s my notion of things.”

“And a very good notion too,” said Mrs Belfield, “for you who have nothing to vex you. Ah, ma’am, you have heard, I
suppose, about my son? gone off! nobody knows where! left that lord’s house, where he might have lived like a king, and
gone out into the wide world nobody knows for what!”

“Indeed?” said Cecilia, who, from seeing him in London concluded he was again with his family, “and has he not
acquainted you where he is?”

“No, ma’am, no,” cried Mrs Belfield, “he’s never once told me where he is gone, nor let me know the least about the
matter, for if I did I would not taste a dish of tea again for a twelvemonth till I saw him get back again to that
lord’s! and I believe in my heart there’s never such another in the three kingdoms, for he has sent here after him I
dare say a score of times. And no wonder, for I will take upon me to say he won’t find his fellow in a hurry, Lord as
he is.”

“As to his being a Lord,” said Mr Hobson, “I am one of them that lay no great stress upon that, unless he has got a
good long purse of his own, and then, to be sure, a Lord’s no bad thing. But as to the matter of saying Lord such a
one, how d’ye do? and Lord such a one, what do you want? and such sort of compliments, why in my mind, it’s a mere
nothing, in comparison of a good income. As to your son, ma’am, he did not go the right way to work. He should have
begun with business, and gone into pleasure afterwards and if he had but done that, I’ll be bold to say we might have
had him at this very minute drinking tea with us over this fireside.”

“My son, Sir,” said Mrs Belfield, rather angrily, “was another sort of a person than a person of business: he always
despised it from a child, and come of it what may, I am sure he was born to be a gentleman.”

“As to his despising business,” said Mr Hobson, very contemptuously, “why so much the worse, for business is no such
despiseable thing. And if he had been brought up behind a counter, instead of dangling after these same Lords, why he
might have had a house of his own over his head, and been as good a man as myself.”

“A house over his head?” said Mrs Belfield, “why he might have had what he would, and have done what he would, if he
had but followed my advice, and put himself a little forward. I have told him a hundred times to ask some of those
great people he lived amongst for a place at court, for I know they’ve so many they hardly know what to do with them,
and it was always my design from the beginning that he should be something of a great man; but I never could persuade
him, though, for anything I know, as I have often told him, if he had but had a little courage he might have been an
Ambassador by this time. And now, all of a sudden, to be gone nobody knows where!”—

“I am sorry, indeed,” said Cecilia, who knew not whether most to pity or wonder at her blind folly; “but I doubt not
you will hear of him soon.”

“As to being an Ambassador, ma’am,” said Mr Hobson, “it’s talking quite out of character. Those sort of great people
keep things of that kind for their own poor relations and cousins. What I say is this; a man’s best way is to take care
of himself. The more those great people see you want them, the less they like your company. Let every man be brought up
to business, and then when he’s made his fortune, he may walk with his hat on. Why now there was your friend, ma’am,”
turning to Cecilia, “that shot out his brains without paying any body a souse; pray how was that being more genteel
than standing behind a counter, and not owing a shilling?”

“Do you think a young lady,” cried Mrs Belfield warmly, “can bear to hear of such a thing as standing behind a
counter? I am sure if my son had ever done it, I should not expect any lady would so much as look at him, And yet,
though I say it, she might look a good while, and not see many such persons, let her look where she pleased. And then
he has such a winning manner into the bargain, that I believe in my heart there’s never a lady in the land could say no
to him. And yet he has such a prodigious shyness, I never could make him own he had so much as asked the question. And
what lady can begin first?”

“Why no,” said Mr Hobson, “that would be out of character another way. Now my notion is this; let every man be
agreeable! and then he may ask what lady he pleases. And when he’s a mind of a lady, he should look upon a frown or two
as nothing; for the ladies frown in courtship as a thing of course; it’s just like a man swearing at a coachman; why
he’s not a bit more in a passion, only he thinks he sha’n’t be minded without it.”

“Well, for my part,” said Mrs Belfield, “I am sure if I was a young lady, and most especially if I was a young lady
of fortune, and all that, I should like a modest young gentleman, such as my son, for example, better by half than a
bold swearing young fellow, that would make a point to have me whether I would or no.”

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” cried Mr Hobson; “but the young ladies are not of that way of thinking; they are all for a little life
and spirit. Don’t I say right, young ladies?”

Cecilia, who could not but perceive that these speeches was levelled at herself, felt offended and tired; and
finding she had no chance of any private conversation with Henrietta, arose to take leave: but while she stopped in the
passage to enquire when she could see her alone, a footman knocked at the door, who, having asked if Mr Belfield lodged
there, and been answered in the affirmative; begged to know whether Miss Beverley was then in the house?

Cecilia, much surprised, went forward, and told him who she was.

“I have been, madam,” said he, “with a message to you at Mr Monckton’s, in Soho–Square: but nobody knew where you
was; and Mr Monckton came out and spoke to me himself, and said that all he could suppose was that you might be at this
house. So he directed me to come here.”

“And from whom, Sir, is your message?”

“From the honourable Mr Delvile, madam, in St James’s-Square. He desires to know if you shall be at home on Saturday
morning, the day after tomorrow, and whether you can appoint Mr Briggs to meet him by twelve o’clock exactly, as he
sha’n’t be able to stay above three minutes.”

Cecilia gave an answer as cold as the message; that she would be in Soho–Square at the time he mentioned, and
acquaint Mr Briggs of his intention.

The footman then went away; and Henrietta told her, that if she could call some morning she might perhaps contrive
to be alone with her, and added, “indeed I wish much to see you, if you could possibly do me so great an honour; for I
am very miserable, and have nobody to tell so! Ah, Miss Beverley! you that have so many friends, and that deserve as
many again, you little know what a hard thing it is to have none! — but my brother’s strange disappearing has half
broke our hearts!”

Cecilia was beginning a consolatory speech, in which she meant to give her private assurances of his health and
safety, when she was interrupted by Mr Albany, who came suddenly into the passage.

Henrietta received him with a look of pleasure, and enquired why he had so long been absent; but, surprised by the
sight of Cecilia, he exclaimed, without answering her, “why didst thou fail me? why appoint me to a place thou wert
quitting thyself? — thou thing of fair professions! thou inveigler of esteem! thou vain, delusive promiser of
pleasure!”

“You condemn me too hastily,” said Cecilia; if I failed in my promise, it was not owing to caprice or insincerity,
but to a real and bitter misfortune which incapacitated me from keeping it. I shall soon, however — nay, I am already
at your disposal, if you have any commands for me.”

“I have always,” answered he, “commands for the rich, for I have always compassion for the poor.”

“Come to me, then, at Mr Monckton’s in Soho–Square,” cried she, and hastened into her chair, impatient to end a
conference which she saw excited the wonder of the servants, and which also now drew out from the parlour Mr Hobson and
Mrs Belfield. She then kissed her hand to Henrietta, and ordered the chairmen to carry her home.

It had not been without difficulty that she had restrained herself from mentioning what she knew of Belfield, when
she found his mother and sister in a state of such painful uncertainty concerning him. But her utter ignorance of his
plans, joined to her undoubted knowledge of his wish of concealment, made her fear doing mischief by officiousness, and
think it wiser not to betray what she had seen of him, till better informed of his own views and intentions. Yet,
willing to shorten a suspence so uneasy to them, she determined to entreat Mr Monckton would endeavour to find him out,
and acquaint him with their anxiety.

That gentleman, when she returned to his house, was in a state of mind by no means enviable. Missing her at tea, he
had asked Miss Bennet where she was, and hearing she had not left word, he could scarce conceal his chagrin. Knowing,
however, how few were her acquaintances in town, he soon concluded she was with Miss Belfield, but, not satisfied with
sending Mr Delvile’s messenger after her, he privately employed one in whom he trusted for himself, to make enquiries
at the house without saying whence he came.

But though this man was returned, and he knew her safety, he still felt alarmed; he had flattered himself, from the
length of time in which she had now done nothing without consulting him, she would scarce even think of any action
without his previous concurrence. And he had hoped, by a little longer use, to make his counsel become necessary, which
he knew to be a very short step from rendering it absolute.

Nor was he well pleased to perceive, by this voluntary excursion, a struggle to cast off her sadness, and a wish to
procure herself entertainment: it was not that he desired her misery, but he was earnest that all relief from it should
spring from himself: and though far from displeased that Delvile should lose his sovereignty over her thoughts, he was
yet of opinion that, till his own liberty was restored, he had less to apprehend from grief indulged, than grief
allayed; one could but lead her to repining retirement, the other might guide her to a consolatory rival.

He well knew, however, it was as essential to his cause to disguise his disappointments as his expectations, and,
certain that by pleasing alone he had any chance of acquiring power, he cleared up when Cecilia returned, who as
unconscious of feeling, as of owing any subjection to him, preserved uncontrolled the right of acting for herself,
however desirous and glad of occasional instruction.

She told him where she had been, and related her meeting Belfield, and the unhappiness of his friends, and hinted
her wish that he could be informed what they suffered. Mr Monckton, eager to oblige her, went instantly in search of
him, and returning to supper, told her he had traced him through the Bookseller, who had not the dexterity to parry his
artful enquiries, and had actually appointed him to breakfast in Soho–Square the next morning.

He had found him, he said, writing, but in high spirits and good humour. He had resisted, for a while, his
invitation on account of his dress, all his clothes but the very coat which he had on being packed up and at his
mother’s: but, when laughed at by Mr Monckton for still retaining some foppery, he gaily protested what remained of it
should be extinguished; and acknowledging that his shame was no part of his philosophy, declared he would throw it
wholly aside, and, in spite of his degradation, renew his visits at his house.

“I would not tell him,” Mr Monckton continued, “of the anxiety of his family; I thought it would come more
powerfully from yourself, who, having seen, can better enforce it.”

Cecilia was very thankful for this compliance with her request, and anticipated the pleasure she hoped soon to give
Henrietta, by the restoration of a brother so much loved and so regretted.

She sent, mean time, to Mr Briggs the message she had received from Mr Delvile, and had the satisfaction of an
answer that he would observe the appointment.